As a testament to truth in advertising, the Wagon Rut was built in a large ditch. Despite the number of horses tied outside, Nate only found two men drinking inside the saloon when he stepped through the batwing doors.
“What can I get for ya?” the scrawny bartender asked.
There were three card tables in the place and enough dust caked on them to choke a buffalo. When he spotted the unmarked door at the back of the room, Nate strode past the bar and said, “I can help myself just fine, thanks.”
“Hey! You’re not allowed back there!”
Nate ignored the bartender’s protests. Before he got to the back door, however, he heard heavy footsteps approaching him from behind. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Nate waited just long enough to read the harmful intent on the faces of the two men who’d been sitting with their drinks just a few moments ago. He snapped a straight punch to the closest one’s nose, sending a spray of blood and a stream of obscenities from that one’s face. The second reached for a pistol at his side, but wasn’t quick enough to clear leather before Nate brought his Remington to bear. Even though the man in front of him knew better than to make another move, Nate smirked and took his shot anyway.
All three men flinched reflexively when the gunshot exploded through the saloon. The man standing in Nate’s line of fire paled considerably. It wasn’t until he felt the patter of wood splinters and grit from the ceiling against his face that he realized Nate had shifted his aim to send his bullet into the rafters overhead.
Nate stepped to one side while drawing the pistol he’d taken from Avery from under his belt. A heartbeat later, the door at the back of the saloon was pulled open so a small group of men could spill into the main room.
“What the hell?” bellowed a man with a round face and a mustache that had been waxed into a straight line below his nose. Upon seeing Nate, he said, “You’d best have a damn good explanation, mister.”
“These men are here to rob you,” Nate said while glaring intently at the group that was still inside the back room. The group stood gathered around two card tables that were piled high with chips, cash, a few gold coins and several other trinkets that had been tossed in to cover some major bets.
“Which men?” asked the fellow who’d been first to step through the door.
Staring into the next room as though he could see into the soul of every last one of its inhabitants, Nate said, “Jim sent them. The tracker hired by the barkeep at the Three Dog found out that him, Wilson and Owen all threw in together to clean out the lot of you.”
The round-faced fellow wheeled around to get a look at the group behind him. “I know it ain’t the two of you, since you’re my kin and . . .”
Nate didn’t need to worry about figuring out who Round Face was talking to. A surprise visit from a stranger combined with the gunshot, some already highly strung nerves and guilty consciences were more than enough to flush out the ones he was after. Three of the gamblers who’d remained in the room separated from the group and drew their pistols.
Round Face turned his back on Nate so he could look directly at those three when he said, “You sons of bitches.”
One of the other men who’d stepped out of the back room with Round Face hadn’t forgotten about Nate. He carried a shotgun in both hands, which he kept aimed at Nate’s belly. Since it seemed he’d done more than enough already, Nate was willing to drop his guns and keep both hands held high.
“My cousin Jerry recommended you,” Round Face snarled. “I knew he needed money, but . . . robbing me?”
“It was Jim’s idea,” one of the three bandits said. “This don’t have to get bloody.”
“Jim means to see to it that you’re run out of town with your tail between your legs!” Nate said.
After glancing over his shoulder at Nate, Round Face looked back at the bandits and asked, “That true, McNabb?”
Although McNabb had been the spokesman for the bandits until now, he suddenly seemed to be at a loss for words. “I don’t—that’s not—we ain’t even seen that man before!”
“Bullshit!” Nate hollered. The plan was to stir things up at this saloon and all he had to do to make that happen was twitch just enough to be noticed, but not so much that it caused the fellow with the shotgun to pull his triggers.
Whether McNabb and the other two were responding to that movement or working on a schedule of their own would remain unknown. McNabb reached for his pistol and the other two bandits were quick to follow. After that, Round Face and everyone else who’d been inside that back room pulled their pistols and unleashed four kinds of hell.
Nate kept his hands where they could be seen and waited for the man with the shotgun to shift his aim toward the back room. By the time Round Face dropped, two of the bandits and half of the remaining gamblers were down as well. McNabb fired a shot a split second before the shotgunner could defend himself. Lead burned through the air to clip the shotgunner’s upper arm and send him staggering back. Another shot came soon after, but didn’t finish the shotgunner off. Instead, Nate had picked up his Remington and drilled a fresh hole through McNabb’s head just above his left eye.
The shotgunner brought his weapon around while blinking in confusion. Although he could have been shot several times over by then, he was only worried about the deep gouge in his arm. Nate was still on one knee after scooping up his gun. He holstered the Remington and raised his hands once again.
“Goddamn it, Goddamn it!” Round Face hollered.
One of the surviving gamblers helped him to his feet. “You all right, Daniel?”
“Caught a bullet through a rib, but I suspect I’ll live.” Looking around until he spotted Nate, he pointed his pistol at him and snarled, “You!”
“He’s the one that finished McNabb,” the shotgunner quickly said.
“I know that! I just . . .” Suddenly realizing he wasn’t just pointing a finger at Nate, Daniel holstered his pistol and asked, “How the hell did you know about this?”
“I’m a friend of the tracker that was sent to sniff out Jim and his men,” Nate explained.
“Well give him my thanks. If he wants to point me in the direction of the bastard who tried to steal from me, there’ll be a payment coming.”
“That,” Nate replied, “will be no trouble at all.”